


Welcome to the Void

by Goethicite



Series: And Everyone is to Blame [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Cultural Differences, Disturbing Themes, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture, Language, Mental Coercion, Mention of Vivasection, Physical Abuse, Time Travel Fix-It, discussions of Genocide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:53:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24379777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goethicite/pseuds/Goethicite
Summary: So now you believe them.  What do you do next?  Everyone wants to know how the Republic came falling down.  Too bad Cara and Din never learned that in school.
Relationships: Cara Dune & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)
Series: And Everyone is to Blame [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1716034
Comments: 68
Kudos: 532





	1. Padmé Amidala

**Author's Note:**

> Anakin and Alpha-17 have a run-in during which Alpha-17 treats Anakin like one of his trainees. It gets very ugly. Obi-Wan is incapacitated at the time and cannot intervene.
> 
> On a happier note, if you like it you can thank Nova for helping me finish Anakin's section which took twice as long as everyone else. If you don't like it, blame me!

Padmé turned her cup of tea again, looking down into the liquid. When she was young, a woman at a festival had read her and Sabé’s futures in the dregs of her tea cup. She wished Sabé were with her. Not that her other handmaidens were any less valued, but Sabé had been there for the blockade and everything that followed. She understood all the choices Padmé had made. Choices that would apparently doom the whole damn Republic.

Fett had kicked them off his ship after a second round of questioning his unusual passengers. Padmé was just grateful they hadn’t been removed at blasterpoint. The woman, Cara Dune, had been looking a little wild around the eyes. Her willingness to follow Fett’s lead was something else Padmé hadn’t heard discussed but required explanation.

It made sense Mando would trust someone from a similar culture as him. Dune’s willingness to accept Mando’s judgement when she herself wasn’t Mandalorian with shared cultural norms, but apparently Alderaanian of all things, was more difficult to comprehend. Fett was borderline xenophobic and had no love for Core Worlders. Dune’s relationship with Mando was the only thing ensuring Fett tolerated her. The fact she trusted Mando’s judgement over her own best interest meant that it was unlikely she’d break the united front she, Mando, and Fett had presented to the Jedi.

Fett’s choice to bring Mando and his family to the Jedi went against everything known about the man. Apparently, Dune and Mando’s original plan had been to blow up the Senate building and everyone in it. If it happened to take out a chunk Coruscant with hundreds of thousands of casualties so be it. Because hundreds of thousands of deaths was nothing compared to billions, compared to entire planets, entire cultures, entire species. Coruscant would become the capital of an empire of pain. To Dune and Mando, it was justice not terrorism. Padmé could even understand how they reached that conclusion. Jango kriffing Fett had been the one to declare the plan too extreme and call in the Jedi.

Padmé had the Nubian Intelligence file on Fett. When Master Kenobi had described a man in Mandalorian armor, her handmaidens had put together files on the most likely identities for Padmé’s attempted assassin. Fett had been near the top. Nothing about the psych profile included in his file suggested the man who called himself Jango Fett was afraid of mass casualties. So why would he have contacted the Jedi? Even if he didn’t have the stomach for taking out all of Upper Coruscant, there were countless other ways to kill a man.

Fett, Mando, and Dune were all capable killers. Which made their insistence on the necessity of extreme measures more puzzling, not less. If Palpatine were exactly what he seemed, there would be no need to blow up the whole Senate. The ineffectual and inoffensive former senator from Naboo would rule an empire that spanned a decent chunk of the galaxy. Padmé had been a politician since she was eight. She knew tyrants both great and petty. They didn’t appear overnight. So what wasn’t she seeing? Why wouldn’t poison in a glass of wine, a blast from a sniper rifle, or speeder ‘accident’ be the choice of an assassin who knew his business?

“Hey, Angel.” Anakin smiled shyly holding a tray of food balancing against his hip to make up for his missing hand.

Automatically, Padmé discreetly scanned the area around them to make sure nobody had heard. Which was yet another uncomfortable uncertainty festering in the back of her mind. Anakin was a handsome boy, but a boy still. In a few years, and with more experience and maturity, he’d be breaking hearts as a Jedi Knight. She had kissed him, made promises she couldn’t keep. Never in her life had she thought she would be in the one to make such a stupid mistake. An affair with a Jedi padawan could end her career, set back Anakin’s training by years.

If it was a simple matter of wanting company, there were any number of men and women she knew who understood how to be discrete. Padmé’s desire for children was strong, but no Nubian politician had children until after they retired. It was a choice. Padmé had accepted the consequences of her desire to effect change through politics years ago. Why would it become unbearable now? To the point she would drag a _child_ into her own folly.

“Padmé?” Anakin’s hand hovered over her shoulder, concern shining bright in his eyes.

Padmé put down her tea as her stomach turned over. “Sorry. I need to speak to someone.” Fett had worked with the Sith. He had answers and wouldn’t ask why she wanted them. Not if she paid him.

“I’ll come with you,” Anakin said, immediately putting his tray down.

“I’m going to talk to Fett, Ani. If I show up with a Jedi, even a padawan, he’ll shut down.” Padmé checked her blaster since even if she wasgoing to ask a stupid question there was no reason to be stupid while she did it.

Anakin puffed himself up to protest. Part of Padmé wanted to soothe him, but the bigger part, the one that was too nauseous to drink her tea snapped. “Anakin, I’m a senator of the Republic. Jango Fett just delivered news that may have a significant impact on whether or not we go to war. I am going to go ask him for clarity because that is my job. You will not come with me because Fett’s information is need to know. Right now, you do not need to know.”

“You sound just like Obi-Wan,” Anakin spat. “Why does anyone trust Fett? He tried to kill you! Everything he says is probably a lie.”

It was so short-sighted Padmé could have slapped him. She was painfully aware of what Fett had done. Cordé’s things were still in her room at 500 Republica. “It was just a job. Fett has his own interests he’s working towards. He’ll tell the truth if that’s more convenient to get what he wants. Excuse me, Anakin. I need to catch him before his sleep cycle.” Her tone was too much Amidala. Anakin deserved better, but Padmé needed to know now.

She didn’t doubt Anakin was sulkily shadowing her as she strode through the ship, past the eerie clusters of identical faces. Alpha-17 was obviously a person. The way he cared for Master Kenobi wasn’t a droid fulfilling its programming. The clones who’d attended to her after she’d fallen out of the gunship had been kind and gentle, reminding her more of Captain Typho’s staff than the cold-eyed, sarcastic bounty hunter she’d sat across from (and not shot in the face).

“Senator.” The clone approaching her was probably Alpha-17. He’d painted the Jedi Order’s symbol on his right pauldron, as a retainer might wear the crest of the house they served, when he’d attached himself to Master Kenobi. “Is there something you need?” He planted himself firmly between her and the door to the hangar where the Slave I was sitting.

Padmé gritted her teeth. She was getting very tired of people presuming she couldn’t take care of herself. “I need to speak to Fett, trooper. If you’d excuse me.”

“Sir… Senator,” Alpha-17 corrected himself. “I’ll be happy to comm him and arrange a meeting.” Which Alpha-17 would no doubt be attending as well.

“Trooper, I appreciate the offer…” Padmé trailed off as she stared. Alpha-17 actually looked uncomfortable as Cara Dune, her armor bundled together under one arm and her weapons harness and belt slung carelessly over her shoulder, rounded the corner. The woman wore a wide, smug grin and all her hair was loose falling nearly to her shoulders.

Dune nodded cheerfully to both them, all but whistling as she shouldered Alpha-17 out of the way. Padmé looked around, half-expecting to see the man in silver armor following afterwards carrying his own pile of armor. Except Padmé could see Mando checking something on the Slave I when the door to the hangar slid open. Before Alpha-17 could block her again, Padmé ducked under his arm and followed on Dune’s heels.

Dune didn’t seem to mind. She strolled right up to Mando and gave him a shit-eatting grin. “Okay, you win,” she informed the man.

Mando hummed just loud enough to be heard over the scrap of his hydrospanner. He turned his head so slightly Padmé would have missed it if she wasn’t looking. Dune tipped her head back and laughed. “Her name was Bultar, and she’s fucking gorgeous. And you were absolutely right about _jetiise_.”

“Still a warrior culture,” Mando said gruffly, but with a touch of good humor. “Figured it couldn’t be that different.” He raised his free hand and made a gesture Padmé didn’t recognize.

“I caught a sonic before I left,” Dune reassured him. “Didn’t want to scar the kids. Speaking of?”

Mando snorted. “Kid’s knocked out with _Bob’ika_. Told Jango I’d stay up and let you in. Figured neither of us want to deal with him when you got through his security.” He made another gesture.

“No idea,” Dune said cheerfully. “She was arguing with Alpha then followed me home.”

“I don’t care how pretty she is, Dune. We’re not keeping her,” Mando replied blandly.

Padmé flushed not sure whether to be insulted or just laugh off an awkward compliment. “You do realize I’m standing right here?”

“More fun that way,” Dune replied, turning around with a smile that explained how she’d so quickly charmed her way into someone’s room. Just the right mix of dirty promise, hungry, and dangerous. “But I’m guessing Alpha wasn’t being a bastard because you were looking for me. You here for him?” she lifted her chin in Mando’s direction.

“Actually, I need to speak to Fett.” Padmé paused with Dune and Mando shared a look. “Believe it or not, I am capable of both taking care of myself and handling my own business. I need a question answered, and I have the creds to pay for the information.”

Her irritation made Dune backup a step holding up her free hand in surrender. Mando sighed heavily. “It’s not that I think you can’t handle yourself, Senator,” he said. It was strange to be addressed directly by the laconic man. He was so quiet that when he did speak to someone besides Dune it seemed jarringly artificial, like a holovid character breaking script. “Maybe Cara or I could answer instead. No charge.”

Padmé bit her tongue. When she spoke the words were carefully measured. “So far, everyone I’ve told has assumed I cannot handle a simple bounty hunter. Yes, he tried to kill me and did kill my friend and bodyguard. But I’ve been in politics since I was eight. If I couldn’t speak to someone who wanted me dead, I wouldn’t be very good at my job. I sit across from the representatives of the Trade Federation. With Fett, at least, it was never personal. I am capable of treating him as an ally.”

Mando and Dune shared another look. “You’re funeral,” Dune said, nudging her shoulder into Mando’s. “Just…” She sighed again.

“He’s not your ally,” Mando said slowly. “Not quite your enemy either. Enemy of your enemy. _Auretiise_ , foreigners, they don’t always understand the difference. Jango knows that.”

Padmé hesitated. Mando sounded genuinely concerned and such a blunt warning from someone Fett was protecting carried weight. “Are you and your child safe?” Padmé asked not sure what she would do if the answer was no.

Dune rubbed a hand across her mouth. “We’re… Family of a sort. My partner,” she gestured at Mando, “is important to people like Jango because of his religion. Me and the kid are his people. But it’s not the same for you. That word, _auretii_. It means outsider, but it also means traitor.” Which was different than whatever word that they would use for Dune was heavily implied. “Look, you’re tough and you’re smart. My partner likes you.” Mando tilted his head in acknowledgement of Dune’s statement. “But you’re listening to people instead of looking for yourself. Just because someone’s got fancy-ass magic powers doesn't make them all knowing or very good at sabacc.”

“I understand,” Padmé said grimly. “I really do. That’s why I’m here alone.”

“I’ll get him,” Mando said, voice quiet really only speaking to Dune. “The kids…”

Dune nodded. “I’ll check on them. You can have the bunk tonight.” She headed up the ramp, disappearing into the ship.

Mando closed up the panel he was working on. For a moment, Padmé genuinely thought he was ignoring or delaying until she changed her mind. Then Fett appeared at the top of the ramp dressed in a tunic and trousers with only his boots on from his armor. “Senator. Little late for a social call,” he said making his way down the ramp to lean against the ship a few feet away from her. Padmé noted Mando lingering as he collected his tools.

“That’s because this isn’t a social call.” Padmé put on her best senate face. “Two thousand credits to answer a question honestly and to the best of your ability. It pertains to something you spoke about earlier.”

“That’s a lot of money for a question,” Fett observed crossing his arms over his chest. He had a pleasant face, handsome but not striking. Without his armor he looked smaller though there was a sense of solidity, of threat, in the way he held himself.

Padmé gripped the small pouch of emergency credit chits hanging from her belt. “I’m assuming your discretion is part of the service.”

When Fett smiled it was hard to imagine why he’d needed the Kaminoans to make him a son. It wasn’t even a pleasant smile. “Always,” he said smoothly. He held out his hand for the pouch. “Ask.”

“Can the Sith… In your experience, do you believe the Sith can alter your mind, your thinking, without you noticing?” she asked, trying to formulate a question he wouldn’t be able to twist the answer for.

“It’s not a belief. I’ve seen it happen. Like Jedi but not a little thing. As far as I know he hasn’t figured it out.” Fett plucked the credits out of her hand. “Good luck, Senator. You’ll need it.” He turned around left.

Padmé’s ears were ringing. She had a throbbing migraine and strong desire to scrub out her skull with the durasteel brushes used to clean blasters. It took her a moment to realize the cool metal she was bracing herself against was Mando’s breastplate. The tall Mandalorian didn’t touch her, just stood steady as a statue with her hand in the center of his chest. He didn’t speak either looking over her head. There was comfort in the pointed disregard. She had to tell Sabé. She had to tell the Queen.

“What did you do to her!” Anakin demanded striding over with a hand on his lightsaber. “Get away from her right now, sleemo!”

Mando ignored the boy and Padmé’s minor breakdown, saying nothing. “Anakin,” Padmé snapped when he clumsily lifted the weapon off his belt. He still wasn’t used to his missing hand. “That is enough.” It was Amidala, the queen who’d faced down Nute Gunray, who spoke. Anakin recoiled like a kicked vorpack. “I… Mando, I…” She needed to not be here in the middle of the hanger with Anakin leaking offended hurt everywhere and clones whispering.

“I think you should go see the kel dor,” Mando rumbled. “Or the red-head who did the translating.”

“Yes. I will.” Padmé said the words but she couldn’t bring herself to move. The beskar under her palm was strangely warm, almost like a living thing itself. It was comforting in the same way cradling a pet was, simple, undemanding.

Mando reached up slowly and transferred her hand from his breastplate to his vambrace. “She needs to see the kel dor, _jet’ika_ ,” he informed Anakin. “Show us.”

Anakin had finally figured out something was very wrong. “Maybe we should go to Master Obi-Wan first,” he said hovering so close he was practically standing on Padmé’s toes.

“ _Jet’ika_ , I honestly don’t give a fuck,” Mando said flatly. “Grown-up _jetii_. Now.”

Anakin started to puff up again but deflated as Padmé continued to stare straight ahead. If she just thought about the beskar everything was normal, quiet. At that moment, she would have sold all of her regalia, past and present, for armor like Mando’s.

Reluctantly, Anakin put his lightsaber away and started leading them towards the door to the rest of the ship. Mando guided Padmé by moving his vambrace enough she had to step forward to keep in contact with the metal. They walked like that, Mando holding out his arm awkwardly so he didn’t crowd her, following Anakin through the ship.

The first Jedi they saw was Master Windu. The Head of the Order looked exhausted with deep bags under his eyes. He scowled when he saw them. “Skywalker, I felt a disturbance in the Force. What is going on?”

Anakin’s shoulders hunched up defensively as he stepped sideways like he could hide Padmé behind him. Mando shoved right past him without a word. “She’s hurt,” he said flatly. “The beskar helps.” He reached up and carefully detached one of his pauldrons, sliding it into Padmé’s free hand. “I’ll want that back,” he informed Windu.

Padmé grasped the metal with both hands and cradled it protectively against her stomach. “I need to see Master Koon,” she told Master Windu, barely able to keep her voice from trembling.

“Of course, Senator,” Windu replied briskly. He sounded so kind as he hovered a hand at her back to urge her forward. “We’ll go right away. Thank you, Mando. I’ll have your armor returned shortly.”

Mando nodded and left without another word. Absently, Padmé reminded herself she’d have to thank him somehow.


	2. Mace Windu

The senator looked as bad as one of the newly masterless padawans Mace had been sitting up with. She stared straight ahead. Only her fingers moving meditatively over the ridges of the armor piece in her lap indicated she was aware of her surroundings. That piece metal was a whole headache in and of itself.

At first Mace had assumed the distinct Force presence around Mando was from his blatantly Force-sensitive child. Then Plo had noted that the man himself wasn’t Force null even if he didn’t seem to have any training. Now that same, silvery sense of protection radiated from the armor in the senator’s hands completely separate from its owner. Not unlike a Jedi’s kyber crystal.

“At least two people have attempted to tamper with your mind,” Plo informed the poor girl gently. His talons stroked carefully over her hair, a trick he’d learned with a humanoid girl padawan long ago. “The first was clumsy and did little other than weaken your natural defenses to such manipulation. It could simply be one of our young Jedi who tried to reach to you as they would one of their peers. Harmless and with no long term effect. The second though… The scope of the manipulation seems to be small enough, but I sense none of the usual symptoms of such a violation. Your sense of self, I believe what your culture would call a ‘soul’, was tampered with just slightly. Not enough to be obvious unless you look for it.”

“Oh.” Amidala gripped the piece of armor tightly. It was going to be a bitch and a half to get her to give it up. “Is there a way to reverse what has been done?”

Mace winced. He did feel for the girl, and for the news Plo would have to give her. Plo spoke clinically as healer to lessen the shock as best he could. “No. At this stage trying to undo the damage might make it worse. However, as you are now aware of it, your natural resistance to such manipulation will increase. We will provide you instruction on methods to guard your mind as well. Jewelry made of cortisis, beskar, or kyber will offer some protection if you desire a physical barrier.”

The senator looked down at metal she was fiddling with. “I have to inform the queen,” she said numbly. “I am compromised. I will be recalled.” Guilt surged through the Force. “The vote, the military creation act, I’m the loudest voice among the dissidents. If I get recalled now, it will pass. The clones…”

“There’s nothing that can’t wait until you sleep,” Mace said firmly. “We have kyber to spare unfortunately. Enough that you can rest without fear of further interference.” The bloodbath on Geonosis had ended less than three days ago. Amidala had been leading a squadron of commandos to recover the wounded until her own men had carried her onto one of the last troop transports off the planet. Since then she’d been making calls and frantically trying to stop the inevitable violence.

“I will sit with you and meditate,” Plo reassured her. “If there is another attempt, I will be able to shield you from it.”

The girl nodded. “Thank you, master Jedi. I just am not sure I will be able to find rest.”

Usually Mace would offer a Force suggestion, but Plo’s flare if incredulous irritation was a reminder he didn’t need that it would be inappropriate in this case. “I’ll fetch one of the clone medics,” Mace offered instead. “Perhaps they’ll have something to help.”

“A sedated mind is not very suggestible,” Plo reassured the girl. “Generally speaking, if you can’t dream you can’t be influenced.”

“A medic would be very welcome then.” Amidala looked down at the armor she was cuddling. “And I should return this. Mando was too kind to let me borrow it.”

Plo unhooked the lightsaber from his belt and offered it to the girl in trade. “Perhaps this would be an acceptable substitute from the moment? I have had too many young padawans not to use a double slide safety switch. It will not ignite unexpectedly.”

The girl hesitantly touched the hilt, then more confidently wrapped her hand around it. “Oh. Yes. Thank you,” she sighed before reluctantly passing Plo the armor piece.

Quickly Plo passed the armor on to Mace. When it landed in Mace’s hand he could see why. Psychometry had never been one of Mace’s talents, but the metal vibrated with a delicate balance of dark and light. It was uncomfortable to handle though it was clear that it belonged to a protector, a guardian. The deep, abiding love radiating from it was no doubt why Amidala had found the metal so comforting. However, it wasn’t a gentle sort of love but the kind that let animals tear apart hunters to defend their young. It was better she centered herself on Plo’s saber.

There was polite chime from the door. Mace blinked as he realized Kenobi was up again even though the man was supposed to be in a bacta tank. When he opened the door, Alpha-17’s scowl proclaimed Kenobi absolutely should still be in medbay. There was blood staining the younger Jedi’s leggings and the sleeve of his undertunic where his wounds had opened again. “Mace, can you tell me why my padawan just came into the medbay howling about how you kidnapped a senator?” Kenobi demanded in complete exasperation.

“Obi-Wan,” Amidala said in a very small voice. Mace was suddenly reminded that she’d lived and fought next to the knight when he was still a padawan. They were friendly. Amidala’s bodyguards still visited Kenobi when given the opportunity. “I need to tell you…” She breathed out harshly. “It’s my fault, not Anakin’s. He’s still young. I should have known better. But Master Koon says someone’s been in my mind. It’s not an excuse, but you must know I would never have done anything to hurt you or Anakin intentionally.”

“Padmé!” Kenobi sounded much younger, Jinn’s gentle boy instead of the too slick, too charming knight, as he limped to her side. “Peace. You and Sabé have always been friends to me.”

“I was a fool,” Padmé told him with reckless disregard for anyone else in the room. “Anakin has a crush, and I encouraged him. I thought I was in love. Me, who has known what a political career means since I was eight. It feels wrong now, like someone else is speaking in my head.” Her hand impacted the side of her head with a thud that made the Jedi wince.

Kenobi put his uninjured arm around Amidala. She leaned into him. “Master Koon, Master Windu?” he asked in desperation.

“Someone has manipulated her mind,” Plo informed the younger Jedi grimly. “It is not unexpected.”

“Ani too,” Amidala said into Kenobi’s shoulder. “I’d bet Sabé’s life. Ani too.”

Mace bit down on his cheek to hold back the flood of profanity. Of course Skywalker too. He’d been meeting with Palpatine since he’d come to the temple. It was strange for such an influential being to take such an interest in ‘mentoring’ an already non-traditional Jedi student. However, Kenobi had never protested too loudly. Skywalker’s master had direct knowledge of the situation and never seen indications of anything more untoward than a politician overstepping propriety. So the High Council had been content to monitor rather than get directly involved.

Skywalker had been in unfathomable danger. Mace had no doubt Palpatine was a puppet of Dooku’s new master. The politician preferred doddering to taking any action that might risk his approval rating. Whether the current chancellor was a willing pawn or a useful idiot remained to be seen. Regardless, Skywalker had been directly exposed to the Sith master’s manipulations, and Order had passively encouraged it. That was a can of poodoo that was not going to be easy to clean up once it burst.

Kenobi was murmuring to Amidala to calm her, voice low enough Mace couldn’t pick out the exact words. It did seem to be working since the girl was breathing steadily instead of choking back tears. “Alpha,” he said when she had settled against his shoulder. “Please fetch a medic and a gurney.”

Alpha-17 nodded and disappeared. He returned with a slightly smaller clone with a red medic’s symbol on his left pauldron. “General Kenobi, this is Pinch,” Alpha-17 said. And Mace felt like an idiot. Of course some would prefer names to identification numbers. He had felt them in the Force like little dying stars. Not the electric, unfeeling pop of the droid or the foggier sensation of a creature not quite sentient. They’d blazed and gone dark like people.

Pinch looked around but his spike of nerves didn’t break his professional facade. “So, who needs a ride to medbay?” he asked with a jovial smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Plo raised a hand slightly to draw his attention. “The senator does. I will be coming with her as the injury requires a Jedi to monitor it.”

“Right. We’ve actually got a chamber set up for you, General Koon,” Pinch said, marking something on the datapad he pulled from his belt. “Once you’re ready, we can fill it with dorin gas and you can remove that mask before you start ulcerating.”

“I wasn’t aware facilities were available,” Plo commented appreciatively.

Pinch really smiled then. “We did some conversions of existing infrastructure. Why the ship’s designer thought we needed two multi-person hyperbaric chambers baffles me. And why we had to haul two cargo containers into a spare storage bay to make a saline and a freshwater pool, rather than installing proper plumbing in medbay, is also a mystery.”

Mace had to know. “Did Master Fisto or one of the others request a more comfortable place to rest?”

“They did,” Pinch said, a little offended, “which is when we told them where to find the pools. We’ve got three hospital grade medics aboard, general. We’re fully xeno-certified. It’s our job to make sure all Jedi officers get the medical support they need.” He sounded proud.

“I admit, it will be a relief to take this mask off for a bit,” Plo interrupted before Mace could dig further. “Senator, I believe Pinch could administer a sedative now if that’s your preference.”

Amidala lifted her head up from Kenobi’s shoulder. “That would be good. Maybe if I can sleep I’ll be able to think straight.”

Pinch frowned kneeling in front of the Senator with a clatter of armor. He ran a scanner across her then took off his soft gauntlet and tucked it in his belt to check her temperature and pulse by hand. “I’m not seeing anything that would prevent me from giving you a sedative. What am I dosing for?”

With a bitter smile, Amidala answered, “I would like not to dream.”

“Ah.” Pinch’s eyes went soft, his mouth gentle. “I can do that, sir.” He went over to the hovergurney and opened up the attached case, custom loading a hypospray since the senator was significantly smaller than the patients his pre-loaded units were meant for. The injection went in her wrist. Even Mace could tell Pinch was doing his best to make the entire procedure as comfortable as possible for the senator.

Kenobi helped Amidala onto the gurney and left Pinch to fussily cover her with a blanket. The medic, escorted by Plo, headed out at a slower pace meant as not to jar the senator. Alpha-17 remained, standing near Kenobi but so quiet he was barely noticeable in the Force.

“Master Windu,” Kenobi said looking down at his hands, “I mean no disrespect to the High Councillors or more experienced masters…”

“Spit it out, Kenobi,” Mace growled too tired to deal with the younger knight's habit of talking in circles.

Kenobi looked up at him and there was a shadow of Qui-gon Jinn in the way he clenched his jaw. “Temple teachings hold mind-tricks only work on the weak-willed. Senator Amidala is not a weak-willed being. The fact her mind has been tampered with suggests something else entirely. We may not be immune either. The old stories say even the wisest and most powerful could be led astray.”

By the Sith. In the time of the Old Republic, the Sith had used mental attacks as well as physical ones. What had happened to Senator Amidala was a very subtle form, but, if the histories were true, there was nothing stopping a Jedi from being manipulated either. And they wouldn’t know it until it was too late.

“While I was captured,” Kenobi continued quietly, “Dooku told me the Sith master was closer than we thought. He was in the Senate.”

The space behind Mace’s right eye started to throb as the crystalline shatterpoints rattled. For good or for ill, possibilities were changing. The little knots of the Force which indicated the split when a choice was made were popping out of existence in Kenobi making it easier to look at him straight on. Mace could only hope it was a good thing, not an indication Kenobi’s future had become very brief indeed.

“Fett knew. He knew about this,” Mace spat to cover his discomfort. “That fucker. He knew. All that talk about the strange things Tyrannus could do. It wasn’t him playing at ignorance. He was fishing.”

“I think it's more fair to say he suspected. We can assume Senator Amidala went to him and confirmed his theory.” Kenobi glanced over at his clone shadow who nodded sharply in agreement. “Mace, the whole damn temple could already be compromised.”

Palpatine. Palpatine who was even more useless than Valorum at the head of an empire made out of the fallen Republic. From a purely analytical perspective it seemed just as impossible as the claims both Mando and Dune had made about what they’d survived. Except the Force loved them, wrapped around them, whispered their sincerity. They had an impossible child who was filled with so many shatterpoints Mace would honestly prefer to spend all day staring at Skywalker. If this was truly time travel, if the Force had spoken, then how? How did the war end with no Separatists and no Republic but an empire? And why the Chancellor of the Republic at its head instead of Dooku or Dooku’s master?

“I need to meditate.” Mace rubbed his temples. “Then I need to write up a list of questions for our guests.”

Kenobi hummed noncommittally. “I’ll leave you to it, master.” He started to stand up only for Alpha-17 to snatch him up and toss him over one, broad shoulder.

“You said bacta after you deal with the latest emergency,” the clone grunted. “So, you’re going to spend the next few hours in a tank. I’ll tell Skywalker it's handled.” Mace was actually convinced the grim-faced clone officer could shout down Kenobi’s apprentice if he had to.

“If I agree, do I get to walk?” Kenobi demanded, voice muffled by Alpha-17’s armor.

Alpha-17 rolled his eyes towards the ceiling like he was praying for strength. “Your leg wounds reopened, sir. I can carry you, or I can go back and tell Pinch why you need a gurney.” After a beat, Kenobi sagged in defeat. Alpha-17 reached up to pat his hip. “We’ll take the back way, general. No one will be there this time of night.”

“Thank you for your assistance, Alpha.” Kenobi’s resignation was a mark of just how exhausted and injured he was. He didn’t even try to fight as Alpha-17 carried him away like a sack of spare parts. Hopefully the clone medics were as efficient and dogged as Alpha-17 and actually got the knight submerged in bacta before he found some other excuse to avoid proper treatment.

Like they could be summoned by thought, another trooper rang the door chime though he was escorting Yoda and the rest of the councilors who weren't in medbay. Mace wasn’t the only one putting new lines on his face with worry.

“I thought if we were all going to alternate ruminating and meditating we might as well do it together,” Adi announced as she settled on the edge of the bed. “Especially since none of us will be sleeping.”

Fett had said twelve standard hours before he’d let them back on his ship. No one was willing to test him since he had the only solid link to Dune and Mando. Mace sat down next to Adi. “I’m thinking of a list of questions,” he informed his fellow Jedi.

“Agreed.” Shaak Ti settled on the floor with a deep sigh. She looked up at the clone who escorted them, who’s Order symbol was so fresh the paint was wet on his pauldron, “Nate, would you be kind enough to bring us some caf?”

The clone saluted. “Right away, General Ti.” He paused. “General Yoda, sir, we have tea as well?”

Yoda hummed at the trooper. “Kind indeed you are, Captain Nate. Tea I would prefer.” Nate saluted again and headed back out, presumably to obtain hot drinks for everyone. Whatever else would come, the troopers were damn useful for wrangling exhausted Jedi.


	3. Alpha-17

A medic hit Kenobi with a sedative as soon as Alpha-17 laid him down on a gurney. “Anakin!” Kenobi protested or called for. Alpha-17 couldn’t tell.

“I’ll talk to your kid. Let the doc get you in bacta before they have to replace your femur for fuck’s sake.” He pinned the Jedi to the gurney with one hand waiting for the drugs to kick in.

“Master!” Kenobi’s kid tried to shove Alpha-17 out of the way. “What’s wrong with Padmé?”

The medic groaned and gestured for Alpha-17 to deal with the baby Jedi since he was focused on prepping a bacta tank. “That is enough!” Alpha-17 barked bodily moving the skinny teenager to the side like he would with an annoying younger brother. “The senator is fine. General Kenobi needs a bacta dip. And you need to sleep.” You little shit he didn’t add since the kid was a Jedi.

The kid glared at him bristling like a ridiculous, scrawny avian. “Before you say something you regret,” Alpha-17 growled, keeping his voice low, “I’d suggest you take a deep breath. Commander.” He’d heard what the senator had said. Whoever had fucked with her head had messed with Kenobi’s kid as well. If the kid had a breakdown like Amidala’s there was no guarantee he would be nearly so compliant and controlled as she had been.

The medic flashed through a series of quick handsigns. ‘Extraction, bratty little brother, medbay, will kill.’

“You can’t be here if you’re going to yell, kid.” Alpha-17 grabbed Skywalker’s shoulders and forcefully guided him out of the medbay ignoring his sputtering. “Do you want to get stabbed in the neck with tranqs? Because that’s what you’re asking for right now.”

The kid went off like a faulty grenade, spewing vitriol about Fett, Alpha-17, Kenobi, and seemingly every other Jedi. Was there anyone this kid actually liked? Alpha-17 reminded himself that Skywalker was Kenobi’s _verd’ika_ , and Kenobi didn’t seem like the kind of _ori’vod_ who smacked his trainees around even when they were asking for it. It wasn’t Alpha-17’s place to tell another _ori’vod_ how to handle their trainee, especially a Jedi.

However, Alpha-17 figured Kenobi couldn’t be angry if he didn’t know it was a punishment spar. He flicked on his internal comm and sent a general message out to the other Alphas. Alpha-17 was good, but he wasn’t ‘beat an energetic baby Jedi until he remembered manners’ good. It would have to be a group effort.

Skywalker realized they weren’t going back to the officers’ quarters where the Jedi were staying when Alpha-17 dragged him onto a turbolift and hit the button for the lowest level of the ship. “Where are you taking me?” the little shit demanded with all the arrogance of an upper caste long-neck.

“If you’re too wound up to control yourself in medbay, then you’re too wound up to sleep.” Alpha-17 kept on hand twisted tight in the kid’s tunics. “We’re going to spar.”

The kid was too stupid to read into Alpha-17’s tone, or, more fairly, Kenobi had never used punishment spars so Skywalker didn’t know what was going on. “I can’t spar!”

“Not with a lightsaber you can’t,” Alpha-17 informed him as the kid looked down at the stump of his arm. “There’s nothing in the armory that I can use that it won’t damage. But hand to hand should be fine.”

Ignoring Skywalker’s protests about how unfair it was he was expected to fight with only one working arm, Alpha-17 shoved him out of the turbolift and dragged him over to the large, padded mat that had been jammed between a water tank and some kind of ventilation hardware. The ship didn’t have a official gym so some of the cleverer CTs had cobbled something together.

Alpha-17 started to remove his armor. “Lightsaber, belt, boots, and outer layer off,” he ordered Skywalker. “We don’t have padding or wraps. If you break your fingers, we’re not stopping. So don’t be stupid.” He was down to his blacks and Skywalker was still gaping like a cadet who’d seen the sun for the first time. Alpha-17 rolled his eyes and grabbed the kid’s belt. He’d strip the kid himself if he had to.

Skywalker squawked, batting away Alpha-17’s hands. “Force! Fine. You think you can fight a Jedi. Fine!” He fumbled with the buckle of his belt one-handed. Alpha-17 turned back to his armor making sure to give the kid plenty of time to figure things out without feeling pressured. Just because the little ass was asking for a hard lesson in manners didn’t mean he wasn’t a freshly wounded kid. The lesson Alpha-17 was teaching had nothing to do with shaming Skywalker for his injury.

Maze, Sull, and Alpha-66 wandered in about the time Skywalker stalked to the center of the mat. It was a solid group. None of them had bad habits Alpha-17 would have to curb to keep Kenobi’s _verd’ika_ from getting himself dead. None of them liked to hurt _verd’ike_ for fun.

“Stretches,” Alpha-17 reminded Skywalker, settling on the mat to go through his own routine. Sulkily, Skywalker collapsed in place to properly stretch out his thin, lanky legs. He’d be as tall as standard when he finished growing, probably as broad as one as well when he filled out. It gave Alpha-17 a solid benchmark to know just how hard he could push without causing serious damage. Kenobi was a brutal fighter. Alpha-17 didn’t want to know what it would look like if he came after Alpha-17 the way Alpha-17 did with other _ori’vode_ and trainers who messed with his _verd’ike_.

“How is this fair?” Skywalker protested when he saw Alpha-17 settling into position to open the spar.

Alpha-17 bared his teeth and punched the little idiot in the face. Never expect your opponent to play by the rules. “It’s not. Guard up, Skywalker!”

Skywalker had skill if not experience even with his missing hand. The alphas cycled in three minute bouts switching out mid-combat so Skywalker didn’t have time to rest. None of them held pins long enough for Skywalker to tap out, bullying him back to his feet each time he went down. There was no winner in a punishment spar.

By Alpha-17’s third bout with the kid, Skywalker was dripping sweat and gasping for breath. There was a small trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth where he’d stopped Sull’s roundhouse kick with his face. His flush hid most of the red marks that would be black and purple in a few hours. He was also swearing in Huttese and had given up on form in favor of flailing like a drunk.

If Skywalker had enough breath to talk he wasn’t being pushed hard enough. Alpha-17 nodded to Alpha-66 who sprinted onto the mat and rabbit-punched the kid just hard enough to make his teeth clack. “Two on one,” Alpha-17 warned Skywalker too late.

“Fuck you!” Skywalker roared flinging himself at Alpha-17.

Alpha-17 side-stepped the clumsy rush to bring his knee up into Skywalker’s stomach. “Buy me dinner first,” he growled into the baby Jedi’s ear before dumping the kid to the mat.

Skywalker let out a yip of pained surprise then very badly mimed a possible spinal injury. The little shit thought he could ambush them by faking a serious injury. Alpha-17 waited a few seconds for Skywalker to realize how stupid his plan was. The kid seemed dedicated though which made Alpha-17 wonder if Kenobi fell for it on a regular basis.

Alpha-66 got bored first and demonstrated to Skywalker Jango Fett’s patented method for dealing with a commando who thought doing a piss-poor injury feint was a good idea. The toe-kick directly to the kid’s kidney got him back on his feet with preternatural speed. “If you’re going to play dead then don’t suck at it, cadet,” Alpha-66 recommended dryly.

Maze handsigned nervously checking in that Alpha-17 wanted to continue. If Skywalker was an actual _verd’ika_ , this would be when they put them down hard for the last time. The fake injury was a desperation play.

However, Skywalker was like some of Alpha-17’s more annoying _verd’ike_ who’d caught on to which actions brought a punishment spar to an end. From the smug tilt to the kid’s mouth Kenobi fell for his banthashit. Alpha-17 signed to continue stepping back to let Sull and Maze rush the kid.

Sull was the one to call it when his haymaker hit Skywalker on the chin instead of the kid dodging. Fett never kept a beating going once a trainee was too exhausted to defend themselves, and most of the alphas, given a choice, adhered to the unspoken rule.

Alpha-17 stepped in to handle the final pin himself as the lead training officer. He blocked a weak snap kick with ease, catching the shaky follow-up and using the leverage to flip the kid over his shoulder. Alpha-17 used the moment of disorientation as Skywalker’s wind was knocked out of him by the impact with the mat to roll the kid onto his stomach. He twisted the kid’s good arm up behind his back, putting his knee in the middle of Skywalker’s spine. His free hand went to the back of the kid’s head pushing Skywalker’s face into the mat. “Okay, kid,” he said softly. “You’re done.”

If it had been one of Alpha-17’s _verd’ike_ beneath him they would have gone limp with relief. Skywalker let out a ragged, broken scream of rage. A hand closed around Alpha-17’s throat. He released the pin rolling back to break the grasp. Except it didn’t help. When he reached up for his own neck there was nothing there even though it was being squeezed hard enough he couldn’t make a sound.

“Alpha?” Maze asked moving towards him to assist.

Alpha-17 shook his head scratching at where he could swear there was a strap cutting off his air. A small twitch from Skywalker made him look over. The kid’s hand was squeezing on nothing, like it was his fingers around Alpha-17’s throat. Teary eyes glared as the bastard pressed harder.

Alpha-17 reacted as he’d been trained by Jango Fett, the man who’d killed six Jedi bare-handed. He backhanded the kid hard enough to draw blood. The blow shocked Skywalker into faltering giving Alpha-17 time to gasp in more air. Before the little shit could recover, Alpha-17 backhanded him again, throwing them onto each other so he ended up straddling the kid's chest with both arms pinned by his knees. He wrapped his own hand around Skywalker’s throat and squeezed. His other hand he put along the kid’s skull, thumb pressing warningly down on one eyelid. Even a Force user would have trouble concentrating when someone was gouging out their eye.

“I should kill you right now,” he told Skywalker coldly. “If you were one of mine, I’d haul you in for decommissioning myself. You. Do. Not. Attack. Allies.” He flexed his fingers around Skywalker’s throat with each word to make his point. Skywalker continued to glare but Alpha-17 had trained enough proud, young men to see the shame in his eyes.

Moving his hand away from Skywalker’s eye, it didn’t seem like it was necessary for the moment, he rested his fingers in the crook of Skywalker’s elbow. “Do you know what decommissioning is, _jet’ika_? Don’t try to speak. You just lost that privilege.” Skywalker flicked his eyes to indicate he didn’t know what Alpha-17 was talking about.

“Decommissioning is when the _kaminiise_ take a defective little brother to the special infirmary.” Alpha-17 shifted his weight so Skywalker could feel how his arms were trapped. “They strap him to a table. Then there’s a pinch,” he matched action to words, digging his nails into the crook of Skywalker’s elbow, “when they give him the paralytic. What happens next depends on the kind broken he is. You. I think you’ll still be awake when the scientists come to cut you open. Since it’s your head that’s fucked, they’ll need you conscious to find out exactly which wires are crossed.”

Skywalker’s throat bucked against his hand. “Alpha!” Maze snarled. Multiple hands dragged Alpha-17 off the kid. Skywalker was sobbing, too hysterical to fight when Alpha-66 wrapped him up in a bear hug while cooing in Mando’a. “What the fuck?” Maze demanded. Alpha-17 didn’t reply, swallowing down his own gorge. He had sent one of his first _verd’ike_ to the long-necks for killing a squadmate unprovoked, and he’d watched the vivisection that followed. Every word he’d spoken to Skywalker had been accompanied by the memories projected as loudly as he could at the kid.

Maze and Sull grabbed Alpha-17 by his arms and dragged him away from Skywalker. “What the fuck?” Maze repeated more quietly once they were out of sight behind the water tank. “Alpha, that was Vau levels of fucked up.”

“I had to pull his fangs,” Alpha-17 snapped refusing to feel bad about it. A Sith had been in the kid’s head doing stars-knew-what. Skywalker had been a hazard to himself and everyone around him. “What he just did, it sounds like something Fett said the _dar’jetiise_ can do. I don’t know how the _jetiise_ handle their own turning, but not well is my guess from that fucking mess on Geonosis. I’m trying to save the little shit’s life.”

Neither Maze nor Sull had anything to counter Alpha-17’s point. On Kamino you only got a single chance to learn a lesson. Alpha-17 and his brothers had become very good at ensuring only one lesson was needed. Still, neither looked happy about how Alpha-17 had chosen to impart it. “I’ll report myself to his training officer. If Kenobi takes issue, he and I can sort it out.”

“If you don’t, I will,” Maze said, glancing back towards where Alpha-66 was leading Skywalker through breathing exercises. “Sull will get your armor. We’ll take the kid up top and bunk him down with some of the standards. Jedi or no, it’ll help to have other _verd’ike_ around him.” Defiantly Maze added, “I’m getting him a bacta drip, Alpha. He doesn’t need bruises as a reminder.”

“Your trainee.” Alpha-17 held his clenched fists in front him before uncurling them in a gesture of release. Fett had said to keep an eye on Skywalker. Alpha-17 was fairly sure even Fett was going to be surprised by the outcome of his simple order.


	4. Anakin Skywalker

Anakin woke up with his face smashed into the warmth between someone else’s shoulder blades. A clone who looked no older than Anakin himself was still breathing softly in front of him. Anakin couldn’t remember if this one had a name or just a number. All he really remembered was one of the hard-faced, older clones waking up his bunkmate long enough to tell the younger soldier Anakin needed somewhere safe to sleep. The younger clone had seemed happy enough to share the narrow pallet, rolling onto his side so Anakin could sleep securely with his back to a wall and another body between him and the rest of the room.

“Hey, _vod_ ,” Anakin’s bunkmate whispered, “you awake?”

Anakin swallowed. His throat was dry and scratchy. There was an infuser attached to the remains of his forearm, not far above the pad of bacta bandages the stump was wrapped in. A line ran from a bag hanging off the bunk above to the infuser. The bag was nearly empty.

His bunkmate turned so he could see Anakin. “The captain left me another bag if you need it,” the clone said reassuringly. “And I’ve got water and ration bars. All above board and officer approved.”

“Water?” Anakin rasped. The clone reached down and produced a small pouch of water with a bite valve in the corner. Anakin accepted it gratefully. His teeth dug into the soft rubber as he sucked it down. The clone gave him a second pouch without needing to be asked.

“You need the other bag?” the clone asked, looking a bit concerned. “The captain said you got on Alpha’s bad side. He’s a mean fuck even for an alpha batcher. So you don’t have to play tough, yeah?”

Anakin slowly flexed all his remaining limbs. To his surprise there was only a bit of lingering soreness. “I think I’m okay.”

The clone nodded, hand disappearing again and returning with a vacu-sealed ration bar. “If you change your mind just let me know. I’m a medic, Kix, lieutenant, Swoop Squad.” He smiled bitterly. “Last member of Swoop actually.”

“Anakin Skywalker, Jedi padawan.” Anakin accepted the ration bar, tearing off the wrapper with his teeth. He bit into it before realizing Kix was still watching him. Ripping off his bite, he silently offered the next bite to Kix. It was something he hadn’t done since he left Tatoonie. Obi-Wan always made sure Anakin had enough food he didn’t have to share even if it meant Obi-Wan himself didn’t eat.

The thought of his master made him tear up. He’d screamed into the Force for Obi-Wan and only got the blurriest echo in response. Obi-Wan didn’t deal well with the confined space of a bacta tank and would have been heavily sedated.

Kix took the proffered bite of ration bar. He spoke around it. “Hey. It’s okay. I’ve got four. You can have another as soon as you’re finished with this one.”

“Where’s my master?” Anakin asked after swallowing the tasteless lump of protein and vegetable matter.

“The captain said General Kenobi was still in medbay. They had to take him out of the tank for surgery then dunk him again. But he should be in a recovery bed by now.” Kix hesitantly rested a hand on Anakin’s shoulder. “Do you need a Jedi? I can send someone to find one.”

“Can I see my master?” Anakin asked instead. He didn’t want to think about other Jedi. He didn’t want to think about why he was in Kix’s bunk.

Kix frowned. “Yeah. Finish your bar and I’ll take you to see him.”

Anakin obediently stuffed the rest of the bar in his mouth. He accepted a second one to gnaw on while Kix put on his white, plastoid armor. Anakin’s boots, belt, and tunic were all folded together with his lightsaber resting on top of the pile next to Kix’s armor. Kix removed the infuser on Anakin’s arm and helped him with his boots and clothes. Anakin thought about protesting, but Kix’s assistance would get him to Obi-Wan faster.

Kix tucked the remaining two ration bars into Anakin’s tunic before he led him out into the hallway. Anakin didn’t recognize this part of the ship. There was no sign of Jedi or anyone who wasn’t a clone. Noticing his staring, Kix explained, “Captain Maze brought you to the bunks instead of the officers’ quarters. He said Alpha worked you over and you might not want anyone to know. Everyone here has been on the wrong side of a punishment spar before. No one will say a word to the other generals.”

Anakin wasn’t sure if that was supposed to be reassuring. He tried to smile at Kix, but even he could tell it was sickly. Kix picked up the pace leading Anakin out of the maze of small, dark rooms where the clone troopers bunked to the main part of the ship.

The medbay was quiet since it was late in the ship’s sleep cycle. Only one clone with a medic’s pauldron was moving around. He nodded to Kix as they passed.

Obi-Wan was in one of the few private rooms with its own, actual door instead of a medical pallet or hovergurney. Alpha-17 was with him, helmet off and propped against his hip as they spoke. Anakin froze only breathing out when Kix stepped protectively in front of him.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan rasped trying to push himself up.

“Down!” Kix barked, medical training taking precedence over any tension in the room. “We just put that shoulder back together.”

Alpha-17 put his helmet back on. “We can continue this discussion later, sir. Without your _verd’ika_.”

Obi-Wan grimaced. “Thank you, Alpha.”

The clone nodded instead of saluting. He started to march out the room but stopped in front of Anakin. Anakin couldn’t stop himself from sidling further behind Kix to get away from the older clone. “I owe you an apology, Skywalker,” Alpha-17 said gruffly. “I didn’t know about where you were decanted. If I had, I would handle things differently.”

It wasn’t a real apology. Or it was honest but Alpha-17 wasn’t ashamed of what had happened. Anakin’s own shame was a leaden lump high up in his throat making it hard to breath and impossible to speak. He’d choked Alpha-17 without touching him. Like Dooku. And Alpha-17 wasn’t afraid of him. The clone apologized like it was nothing, like it was easy. It made Anakin angry which made him feel ashamed all over again. Alpha-17 didn’t seem surprised or offended by the lack of response just nodded briskly and moved on.

Kix fussed over Anakin’s master for a few minutes until Obi-Wan finally managed to convince the medic he hadn’t ruined the surgeons’ work. “I need some time with my padawan, Kix,” Obi-Wan finally barked in exasperation. “Please!”

“If he does more than lay in bed, you comm me,” Kix ordered Anakin. When Anakin didn’t respond with the appropriate gravity the medic growled in irritation. “The next time that femur shifts, it's done. We won’t be able to reknit it _again_. We’ll have to replace the bone. Which means more surgery. So keep him still.”

“I won’t let him do anything stupid,” Anakin promised. His stomach had gone cold at the thought of Obi-Wan under sedation, unable to comfort Anakin or even feel his distress. It had been bad enough on Tatooine, when Obi-Wan had been too far away to help when Anakin had needed him. Losing Mom had ripped a hole straight through Anakin’s shields as well as his soul, and Obi-Wan hadn’t been there to shore him up. To be half a ship away from Obi-Wan and feel the exact same nothing again would be unbearable.

Kix nodded in satisfaction. “I’ll put a medical lock on the door,” he told Obi-Wan, “so you'll have some privacy. As long as you _don’t move_.”

Obi-Wan huffed. “Then I shall remain perfectly still. Thank you, Kix.”

The medic left. A loud beep announced the door had been secured against everyone except medical personnel. Anakin stared at his feet while Obi-Wan watched him radiating calm and warmth into the Force.

Finally Anakin asked in an embarrassingly small voice, “Do we have to talk about it right now?”

With a heavy sigh, Obi-Wan hit the button to raise his bed, sitting up the correct, medic-approved way. “It’s a right fucking mess.” Anakin flinched because Obi-Wan never swore in front of him. “And we will have to speak about what happened, padawan. About both Alpha’s actions and your own.” Then his voice softened. “But not right this moment. Oh, my dear, I am so sorry he hurt you when I could not be there.”

Anakin dared to glance up. Obi-Wan had one hand extended like he had when Anakin was young and not sure if he was welcome in his master’s space. Anakin started to throw himself at Obi-Wan checking himself at the last moment. Kix had been very clear about the risk to Obi-Wan’s leg. Instead he moved around the bed to settle carefully along Obi-Wan’s uninjured side. Obi-Wan wrapped an arm around Anakin’s shoulders not protesting about being smothered like he normally would. 

“They kill the defective clones,” Anakin whispered, because it was important Obi-Wan understood. When he’d been four another slave had damaged one of the large water tanks beneath Gadrulla’s palace. The unfortunate being had been chained to a post outside the palace during a sandstorm. One minute for every liter lost. There hadn’t been anything left before the end of the hour. All the other palace slaves had been forced to watch. Mom hadn’t even been allowed to cover his eyes.

“I know.” There was ice and steel in Obi-Wan’s tone. The kind that preluded ‘aggressive’ negotiations. “Alpha showed me. I won’t let them hurt anymore clones, Anakin. And I certainly will never let anyone ‘decommission’ you. No matter what you’ve done. I will die first.” He meant it. Anakin could feel his determination resonating through their bond.

“Even if I did something horrible,” Anakin demanded. “Even if you hate me?”

Obi-Wan closed his eyes breathing deeply. Anakin could feel him calming himself. “There’s nothing you could do that would make me stop loving you, Anakin.” The words were ground out like they were cutting into his tongue. “I cannot promise I will always be happy with you or approve of what you’ve done. But I will always love you, brother.”

Anakin gaped. Obi-Wan may as well have cut out his own heart with his lightsaber and presented it to Anakin on a platter. Actually, the self-mutilation would have been less shocking.

“What Alpha did to you,” Obi-Wan said, clearing his throat in discomfort, “was intended to be a training exercise. I experienced something similar during my time on Mandalore. Within the context of Mandalorian culture, it’s not considered abuse as long as the victim is an adult. However, done in a culturally acceptable way that kind of… extreme behavioral modification ends with the victim being comforted by clan members and friends. Alpha was wrong to involve you in such a ritual for many reasons. Chief among them being that you had no context for what he was doing and had in no way… consented to be involved in his cultural practices. Even within the context of Mandalorian culture, he erred as you had no clan to comfort you. I was not there to make sure things didn’t go too far and to support you afterwards.”

Anakin shuddered, pushing his face into Obi-Wan’s neck like he used to after nightmares. He didn’t want to think about what happened. But Obi-Wan was talking to him, really talking. Not just saying things and expecting Anakin to understand. “What happened to you on Mandalore, master?”

“The ritual Alpha bastardized is called ‘blunting teeth’ in reference to disciplining a domesticated Mandalorion wolf who has bitten its master. While mandos are fiercely individualistic as a culture, they are a tribal people. And a warrior who has lashed out another clan member disproportionately or harmed the clan intentionally may be brought to heel by more senior warriors.” Obi-Wan grimaced as Anakin shuddered.

Anakin resisted the urge to protest. It was what he wanted to know, but Obi-Wan had once again dodged the personal question. He bit back the demand knowing admitting affection for Anakin had probably strained what little emotional availability his master had.

Obi-Wan sighed heavily as if sensing Anakin’s thoughts. “I was a Jedi padawan protecting a pacifist heir to the New Mandalorian political dynasty. Among those loyal to Satine Kyrze were the remnants of a political group which had been massacred by the Jedi due to faulty intelligence and a devastating failure in compassion. My perceived anti-social sin was the thoughtless destruction of Mandalorian culture by Republic strong-arming. I was young, prideful, and unwilling to listen to what the surviving True Mandalorians were trying to tell me. The captain of the ducal guard had been a True Mandalorian. She arranged to have my teeth blunted after I tried to convince Satine to allow me to call in Judicial troops.”

Anakin wavered between suspicion and the strong desire to bask in this outpouring. Obi-Wan rarely shared anything from his past and spoke even less about whatever he was feeling. It was unreal to hear Obi-Wan just give Anakin answers instead of talking around them. However, it was also everything Anakin had ever wanted. It felt good.

Obi-Wan was grinning wryly, almost nostalgic. “I pissed blood for a week afterwards. Satine nearly dismissed her guard captain. But I understood what they were trying to tell me. If I had listened to them the first time and acknowledged their concerns, they wouldn’t have felt the need to beat the message through my skull. Literally.”

Obi-Wan took Anakin’s hand into his own with a gentle squeeze. “It’s disorienting, especially for a Jedi. Blunting teeth is intended to be done in love. Without the love, the target would just be killed. That combination of love and violence is a particularly Mandalorian affectation which seems unnatural to us. What Alpha did to you is unacceptable. It will not happen again. I have informed the other masters that the troopers practice… upsetting cultural norms. But the reason Alpha will not hurt you again is because the violence did not come from malice. For him it was a more experienced officer correcting a junior officer he was mentoring.”

“When Alpha realized you didn’t understand, he reported himself to me for abusing you. It was a spectacular cultural miscommunication, but we have a knack for those.” Obi-Wan turned his head just enough he could brush his lips against Anakin’s forehead. “Alpha has agreed to accept a demotion and lessons in Jedi cultural norms as punishment. When and if you choose to forgive him will be a personal decision. However, he strongly encouraged me to finish the ritual with you as a form of closure. It’s up to you whether we do.”

Anakin swallowed hard. “How does it work?”

Obi-Wan smiled gently. “I will hold you hands and ask you ‘what did Alpha want you to see?’ and then you will tell me. And when I hear a reasonable answer I will assure you that I love you.” He held up his hand before Anakin could speak. “Padawan, if you simply wish to hear that I have great affection, respect, and pride for you then I will say it now. I expect a thoughtful answer.”

Anakin took the time to think about it. His eagerness to try had been to hear Obi-Wan’s vocal approval for him, but Obi-Wan was just giving it to him. No need for anything else. Obi-Wan had completed the ritual when he was Anakin’s age. And it seemed to be, if not a good memory, an important one.

“What if I can’t?” Anakin demanded, stomach tight and hands shaking just slightly. “What if I get it wrong.”

“Then we shall sit together until you decide you are done.” Obi-Wan was calm as he always was like he could watch Anakin worry himself in circles all day. It made Anakin feel young, small, and stupid. Exactly what he’d felt when he’d wrapped the Force around Alpha-17’s neck and squeezed. Obi-Wan hummed softly, interrupting the thought. For once the older man didn’t have fifteen other things distracting him from Anakin. “My dear?” Anakin would do a lot worse than sit there awkwardly to keep Obi-Wan here talking to him.

Before he could overthink it further, Anakin snatched up his master’s hands. “Ask me.”

Obi-Wan turned so he was properly holding Anakin’s hands. It was purely symbolic since Anakin could pull away at any time. “What did Alpha want you to see?” Obi-Wan said quietly. “Start from the beginning, padawan. Think it through. Often there’s more than one lesson intended.”

It was hard to remember exactly what had happened through the haze of red anger. “The first time,” Anakin said visualizing the first moment he’d been too tired to fight back, “he pinned me he said ‘You’re done’.” Anakin had assumed it was a crow of victory, but his Force-enhanced recall just made Alpha-17 sound tired and strangely like Obi-Wan. “I thought he was bragging about winning. Even though it wasn’t a fair fight!”

But it hadn’t been intended to be. Everyone had known Anakin wouldn’t be able to win. “I think he was just trying to make me tired enough to calm down.” The first pin had been gentle compared to what came after. “Then I… I attacked him.”

Part of Anakin howled that it was justified, but that wasn’t the lesson. If it was Alpha-17 wouldn’t have threatened to gouge out an eye. “He saw it as unprovoked. He just wanted me to spar until I was tired enough to sleep. Then I tried to kill him, and it meant I wasn’t just out of control. I was dangerous.” Like the young clone with blood on his hands and nothing in his eyes Alpha-17 had taken to be killed. “No, not dangerous. We’re all dangerous. I was so out of control I couldn’t recognize the difference between an enemy trying to kill me and someone trying to help.”

No that wasn’t it either. Anakin had known exactly what he was doing, and Alpha-17 had known Anakin wasn’t having a stress reaction. When Anakin snapped under the pressure, the others had made Alpha-17 back off. “No. I meant to hurt him because he’d been unfair to me. And I was angry. It was a stupid spar. It didn’t matter, but I didn’t care. I just wanted to punish him for making me lose.”

“A danger to yourself and your vode. With full knowledge and intention.” Obi-Wan said heavily. “The greatest sin a Mandalorian can commit.”

If Anakin had been one of Alpha-17’s troopers, Alpha-17 would have killed him. It was only because he was Jedi that Alpha-17 had stopped. If Anakin had been fighting another Jedi who was in the middle of Falling he would have killed them without hesitation. Turning his head, Anakin whispered into his master’s ear, “I’m scared, master.”

“So am I, padawan,” Obi-Wan admitted grimly. “But neither of us will face it alone. That I can promise.” He pressed another kiss to Anakin’s forehead. “You are my brother, Anakin. And I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea of 'blunting teeth' was something I made up. However, in a tribal culture there has to be some form of social discipline. I don't see Mandalorians as being big on shunning.


	5. Cara Dune

It was a little embarrassing just how much she’d forgotten since primary school. Din was even worse off since Mandalore’s whole history had been re-written three separate times since he’d decided to join their religion. The piece of flimsiplast in front of them was proof that Cara and Din were the worst possible choices for time travelers.

There were two dates for the fall of the Republic with question marks for both. Cara had listed the major battles and campaigns from the Clone Wars, but she only remembered those from a particularly fun series of romance novels about a clone trooper that had been among the Rebellion’s files of media the emperor had banned. She wasn’t even sure which references were real and which were fictional.

Din had been able to establish a firm timeline from when he started wearing a helmet to the massacre at Keldabe. The Mand’alor when the empire had come had been a woman named Bo-Katan Kyrze. Which seemed to be some kind of reference point for the red-headed human Jedi who looked like he needed about a month’s sleep. From there, Din knew less than Cara who at least had been flirting with the idea of joining the Rebellion when the Imperial Senate lost the last of its window dressing of influence.

Neither Din nor Cara could answer any questions about clones, Jedi, or how Palpatine had become emperor.

“Don’t be stupid,” Jango finally snapped after another round of Din and Cara looking at each other and shrugging helplessly. “They’re not politicians. They’re soldiers who grew up in a galaxy that was already a battlefield. You want to get squeamish now? Try to negotiate your way out of this? Too late. The board’s been set and we don’t know what it looks like. You try to play the game. You. Will. Lose.”

“A different suggestion you have?” the little green troll-man said sharply. “Hear it I would.”

Cara leaned into Din’s shoulder. The whole interrogation had alternated between stressful and dead boring. The Jedi insisted on quizzing Cara about names and places and events she’d never heard of. Din got off more lightly since all the history of the Republic he knew was a long litany of how they, and the Jedi, had fucked Mandalore.

Jango bared his teeth. “Knock over the table. You talk about ‘justice’ and the right way to do things. The right way to do things ends up with us all dead. It’s been set up that way. So maybe pull your heads out of your self-righteous excretory organs and consider doing things the way the rest of the galaxy does.” He gestured at the wall where Din’s rifle was hanging. “Dune and her partner are more than capable of assassinating a politician. Especially when he doesn’t know they exist and they want him dead. Smuggle them onto Coruscant, give them access to the archterical archives I know you have, and let them loose. If they have schematics they won’t have to blow up entire buildings because the publically available data is for the exteriors.”

“And what about the Separatists,” Angry Eyebrows demanded. “Pushing the Republic into a further state of chaos will just ensure Dooku’s victory.”

“The war is a con of some kind,” Jango stated bluntly. “Tyrannus hiring me proves that. What kind of con, we haven’t decided. But if I was to say… Relocate most of the army somewhere the Republic would have to go looking for them again that should buy some time to kill Palpatine.”

That drew another round of not-shouting. These Jedi hutt-fuckers apparently were too good to yell properly. It reminded Cara of other troopers' stories about Alliance brass before the princess had joined the war council. Leia Organa would have had these sponge-spined bastards crying on the floor.

Din tapped his fingers on the table like he was bored to draw Cara’s attention. While she watched he reached out and touched the data entry for the Mandalorian purge. She took a swig of the sweet-sour tea Jango had made to cover her interest. None of the Jedi had reacted to the inciting incident of the purge. The Mand’alor at the time had been trying to re-nationalize MandalMotors, which was majority owned by the empire. Jango had drilled down on everything Din could remember from his civics class, which had been using it as a discussion topic at the time. Something about banks and trading clans owning most of the MandalMotors stock and that stock defaulting to the empire when the Separatists fell.

Jango hadn’t explained why he was so interested in MandalMotors. Cara, frankly, didn’t care much about the details. But it was that information which had Jango suggesting they make a deal instead of just offering to take them to a port where they could find some work. The fact the Jedi didn’t seem to care and Jango wasn’t drawing their attention to it made her skin itch. Still, Jango was Mandalorian and seemed pretty serious about it from the way he treated Din. These supposed guardians of the Republic were busy working for Palpatine and apparently not interested in changing that.

Cara tilted her head in the direction of the Jedi leading with the side that had the mourning braid. Jango had promised Palpatine would die, had sworn it with a hand on Boba’s head. He’d warned them it might be slower than Cara would like, but the slow way came with a second oath. Alderaan would be properly protected if someone else tried to emulate Palpatine.

Din offered his kid a sippy cup of blue milk to acknowledge her acceptance of Jango’s decision. The way he held his shoulders was a warning. One of the Jedi, the pretty red-head again, was watching them. He’d been very quiet during the second round of questioning. The kind of quiet that made Cara think he realized Jango hadn’t arranged this meeting as a goodwill gesture.

She stared back at the red-head following Jango’s advice for dealing with Jedi mind-tricks and thought very hard about the details of her friendly encounter last sleep cycle. The red-head coughed delicately and turned to look at Din, who was purposely focused on the kid. Pretty boy wasn’t going to get anything useful there unless he was interested in the kid’s latest dietary preferences.

(It was amphibian meat roasted in the godsawful crimson spicy sauce Din and Jango loved. Also, Cara now knew diapers came in different types and sizes and had gotten into an argument with the quartermaster about the difference between diapers and pull-ups. The sauce had the side-effect of burning through their diaper stash faster than planned, and she’d fight a rancor barehanded before dealing with the reusable, cloth banthashit Jango had left over from Boba.)

The red-headed gave her an odd look. Hiding her smile behind her mug, Cara thought about how fucking ridiculous Jango Fett was. Boba was a smart, tough kid. His father was a mess in blue _beskar'gam_ who had a guilt meltdown every time the kid had to eat a ration bar instead one of the dozens of home-cooked, pre-made snacks and meals Jango stocked the galley with like an overachieving Alderaanian housewife. For a brat with a frankly appalling aptitude for murder, Boba was the focal point of more parental stress than Cara had ever been. And she was the only child of a widower who was also the last member of a minor noble house.

Cara was just grateful for Din’s much more laid back approach to parenthood. Her partner’s parenting style mostly consisted of making sure the kid was clean, warm, and not eating things that were obviously toxic or inedible. Even Cara could manage that if she had to.

As if they heard her thinking about them, the kid burbled happily. They flailed causing Cara’s mug to tug at her fingers. “Nope,” she said sharply. “We do not use weird brain-magic to steal Cara’s drink, kid.”

Din stiffened. “Listen to _ba’vodu_ , _ad’ika_. We don’t steal from the tribe. How do you ask if you want to try something?” They’d been working on basic handsigns with the kid since before the water. However, it was only when Boba had started constantly signing at the kid in an attempt to communicate that the kid started signing back.

As the Jedi stared silently, the kid carefully reached up with their tiny, three fingered hands and signed ‘please’, ‘small’, ‘drink’ then squealed in that particular way which meant they wanted Cara. Din patted the kid’s back approvingly. “ _Jatne_! Well done, womp rat. Well, _ba’vodu_ , can they try your tea?”

Cara slid her mug across the table to Din. “Sure. Good job, short stuff!”

Din gave the kid a quick taste of the tea. It wasn’t the little womp rat’s favorite. They settled back on Din’s lap in a disappointed huff. However, they perked right back up when Din handed them the sippy cup of bantha milk. Cara took her tea back, rolling her eyes at the Jedi. “What? You live in a temple full of kids with crazy brain-magic.” She felt weirdly defensive of Din who’d successfully cobbled together different bits of parenting advice, mando culture, and experience to prevent invisible choking incidents.

“Strong in the Force your child is,” the old green troll noted. “Aware of it they are.”

Cara deflected for Din. Her partner had a hand on his blaster. “Other than a few floating toys and some knocked over plates, not really. The womp rat’s not old enough to understand what they’re doing.” She had no idea if that was true and trying to bluff an adult member of the kid’s own species was a level of stupid only a former Rebel shocktrooper would try to bull through. Luckily, Din had one of those. She was not thinking about how the kid could heal with a single touch.

“Master Yoda, traditional Mandalorians considered it inexcusably rude for any being outside their culture to be overly interested in their children,” the red-head said mildly. The way he said ‘inexcusably rude’ Cara would have known he meant grounds for murder even if she hadn’t known Din. Several of the other Jedi shot exasperated looks at the red-head. Cara wondered how they were oblivious to Jango and Din’s absolute willingness to kill all of them.

The old troll hummed thoughtfully. “Apologize I do, Mando. Rudeness I did not intend.”

Din nodded stiffly, but he gathered the kid’s things and left to hide in Boba’s room with the other kid. Cara mockingly toasted the Jedi and stayed seated. “Sorry for the interruption. We just got tired of listening to you repeat the same three arguments.”

Jango didn’t bother muffling his snort of laughter.

“Mistress Dune,” the tholothian woman who talked like a Coruscanti socialite began. Then corrected herself. “Dune, this is a much more delicate situation than you are aware of.”

“I’m sure it seems that way,” Cara snapped. “There’s plenty of reasons you’d want to protect a man who committed genocide. Repeatedly. In the name of a Republic who apparently doesn’t give a fuck it’s falling apart at the seams. You want to know why Din and I are so fucking stupid?”

“Why?” Miss Coruscant asked, matching Cara’s bluntness.

Cara gestured at the flimsiplast with their pathetic summaries. “You’re lucky I was born on a Core World. We were still taught there was a government before the empire. The Mid-Rim and Outer Rim weren’t allowed to teach anything that might undermine loyalty to imperial power. Books, historical records, historians, witnesses. The empire eliminated them. They cleansed the galaxy of what came before so Palpatine had a clean slate to write whatever history he wanted. That purge wasn’t as bloody as Alderaan or Mandalore, but it was a purge. We don’t know how the Republic fell because Palpatine didn’t want anyone to remember there had been a Republic. That’s the man you want to protect. He’s going to kill all of you then rewrite it so that you never existed at all.”

“ _Udesii_ , Cara.” Jango looked pointedly down.

In her fit of anger, Cara had accidentally crushed her mug. Lukewarm tea was slopped everywhere, dripping into her lap. “Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Normally she was better about controlling when the augments in her gauntlets kicked in.

“We appreciate your concern, Dune,” the beautiful togruta (who’s candy-striped montrails Cara sort of wanted to lick) said seriously. Cara was going to have to start paying attention to these assholes’ names. “What happened in your future is unthinkable.” She raised her hands in an elegant, soothing gesture. “You’re correct. The Republic is fragile right now. If we take extreme action it may destabilize even further with or without Palpatine. If it were to collapse then it might not become an empire, but it certainly won’t be a return to peace.”

She sounded like Mon Mothma. The woman was convinced you could just decide things were going to be okay. Cara had spent too much time wading through sewers full of blood to believe in real, galactic peace. “It’s not about peace. It’s about survival. You think you have time. You don’t. My partner and I might not be able to remember exact dates, but he was eight when the droids came, seventeen when the purges happened. I’m thirty eight, just old enough to remember the end of a war. My planet was destroyed nine years ago. The Republic took thousands of years to build. It fell in less than thirty. That’s the definition of catastrophic system failure.”

Candy-stripes pursed her pretty lips in understanding. “We appreciate the urgency of the situation, Dune. However, haste can harm as much as it could help.”

Cara turned to Jango trying to figure out if she was the crazy one. “I think we're done here,” Jango told the Jedi sourly. “We’re returning to Kamino. I have friends among the Kaminoans. With luck, I can find out exactly how the clones are supposed to be my revenge against you _shabuire_ without alerting every fucking _dar’jetiise_ in the galaxy.” The zabrak Jedi looked like he was gearing up for another argument. Jango glared him down. “Unless you know which kaminoans are reporting back to Dooku, which are paid off by the Banking Clans, and which are reporting to someone else entirely.”

“Is there any chance you or your people are compromised, Fett?” The red-head asked.

Jango grimaced. “We’re all a little compromised, but, unlike the _jetiise_ , we know exactly how compromised we are. I’m not introducing any new variables into this boiling crock of shit without a real alliance. You have our info. We’re even. _Sosol_. I’ve already risked drawing more attention than I can handle bringing Dune and her partner to you. I hate your Order and everything it stands for. If I start playing nice now there’ll be questions no one wants me answering.”

“That’s fair,” Miss Coruscant admitted. “How long do you need on Kamino to get an answer? And will you share the answer with us when you find it?”

“Two to three months.” Jango held up a hand to forestall protest. “The tracks are greased for this war. Throw some sand on it. Get Senate red tape involved. Keep the Republic away from Kamino for three months, and I’ll send you everything I find on Tyrannus’ ‘Operation Knightfall’.” At Candy-stripes skeptical eyebrow he shrugged. “If there are no Jedi left in thirty years, someone killed all your younglings. Or worse. I was promised the end of the Jedi, and I was angry enough not to ask too many questions. But if vengeance means _ik’aade_ and _adiike_ are slaughtered wholesale…” He shook his head. “I’m still too mando for that.”

The red-head translated for his companions. “ _Ik’aade_ , infants. _Adiike_ , children under the age of thirteen standard.”

The kicker was Cara believed Jango. His distaste for the probable murder of all Jedi children was a real reason he’d agreed to dispose of Palpatine. It just wasn’t the only reason or the primary one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a
> 
> Sosol - We're even. lit. 'equal'  
> Shabuire - insult (pl)


	6. Kal Skirata

Fett’s new commando was wearing beskar. Pure beskar, unpainted and unalloyed. Kal didn’t even know that much beskar existed outside the Mandalore Sector. And the tall bastard didn’t even seem to care that he was wearing a planetary ransom like it was any other set of _beskar’gam_.

The encrypted message Kal had received to be disseminated among the other loyal Mandalorians had just said that Fett was bringing a commando and their family to Kamino. Kal had gathered up a small welcoming party of Walon Vau and some of Kal’s own sons expecting another old _Haat Mando’ad_. Then the cargo doors opened and Jango Fett and Boba had walked out followed by a stars-damned storybook hero.

Fett wasn’t smirking. He was still radiating satisfaction like nexu that’d just gorged itself. “Skirata, Vau,” he said with a small nod of acknowledgement. He waited at the base of the ramp for the beskar-clad commando to join him. The commando was carrying something that was either a pet or a child, small, green, and with massive ears and dark eyes. It cooed happily where it was propped against one beskar pauldron. At the commando’s side was a pretty human woman in light armor like a mercenary might wear. She held herself like a fighter, and Kal would beat the heavy, armored gauntlets she wore weren’t for show.

“What the fuck, Fett?” Vau said bluntly, staring at the unknown commando.

Vau’s tone had the woman taking a step forward to put herself between them and the child. Kal was sure it was a child from how the commando turned protectively.

“Language, Vau,” Fett said without heat. He gave a small, very controlled smile. “They’re _resol’ade_ too, _vod’ika_ ,” he told the commando. “And _Haat Mando’ade_.”

“Huh.” The woman’s eyes darted from Ordo’s face to Jaing’s to Meerel’s. “I know what you said, Jango. But that’s weirder than I expected. Those clones properly Mandalorian?”

Kal reached out to put a steadying hand on Jaing’s shoulder. In her mouth the question seemed genuine, not an insult. But too many of the _Kyr’tsad_ _hu’tuune_ had accused Kal’s sons of being _aruetiise_. Fett, who usually ignored Kal’s adopted children, spoke up before Kal had to. “Skirata adopted them. They’re as Mandalorian as he is, _resol’ade_.” Both the woman and the commando relaxed. “Our friend is _ruyot’ad_ ,” Fett explained for Kal and Vau’s benefit.

“In beskar,” Kal said without thinking. _Ruyot’ade_ were notoriously isolationist, and the _Kyr’tsad_ had targeted and wiped out those with any significant wealth or property since they had no allies to avenge them. “How?”

The commando shifted uncomfortably but said nothing. “Long story.” Fett smiled wider. “ _Vod’ika_ , Dune, this is Kal Skirata and his sons. That greasy bastard is Walon Vau. They’ve been with me since the beginning.” It was strange to hear Fett calling a stranger ‘little brother’. He hadn’t called anyone ‘brother’ since Galidraan.

“Cara Dune,” the woman introduced herself briskly. “That’s my partner.” She jerked her thumb at the commando. “The kid doesn’t have a name.”

“Din Djarin,” the commando admitted reluctantly. Apparently he was from a sect that protected their names as well as their faces. Kal would have to talk to his sons and explain that they weren’t to use it.

Fett ruffled his son’s hair. “Boba, take our guests up to our rooms and let them get cleaned up. Then find Rook and give him Dune’s scans. Tell him durasteel not plastoid.”

Tellis Rook had been an armorer once upon a time. He still did armor repairs for most of the former _Haat Mando’ade_ and some of the young guns. It sounded like Fett was commissioning the woman her own set of _beskar’gam_.

Boba, usually a standoffish and suspicious child, grinned and grabbed the woman’s hand looking up at her with the kind of awe Kal would expect from a boy who’d just met a proper _dal’ramikad_ for the first. “We have water showers, Cara,” he promised. “And I’ll go catch a rollerfish so we don’t have to eat rations.”

“Sounds good, brat,” the woman said, reaching over to ruffle Boba’s hair. “Come on, Djarin. You smell.” Boba did not try to break her fingers nor did Fett seem like he was considering murder. In fact, Fett seemed perfectly comfortable sending his beloved child off with two strangers with less glaring and threats than when Kal babysat.

Vau asked what Kal was thinking since the crazy bastard’s sense of self-preservation was irreparably damaged. “Which one are you planning on marrying? I’d go for him honestly. She’s good looking, but that’ll be enough beskar to fit Boba.”

“Anyone who wants to marry Djarin is going to have to go through Dune to do it,” Fett said with surprising good humor. “I’m a little old for bare-knuckle beatdowns. Especially when she’s the one throwing punches.” He did smile then, a cold little thing that made it clear he was Jaster’s son no matter what his clan name. “Din told me something very interesting about MandalMotors. Skirata, arrange a meeting tomorrow, early enough no one with a hangover will want to deal with it. Tell whatever young guns are loyal not to drink tonight. Vau, sweep the office. This is going to be a private conversation.” He hesitated looking at Kal’s sons. “Bring _Ord’ika_ , Skirata.”

Ordo flinched. Kal did too. He hadn’t realized Fett knew the boy’s name.

“What the fuck, _Jan’ika_?” Vau said flatly. “Did you get a bad batch of spice?”

Fett grinned instead of caving Vau’s face in. “No. I know how we take _Manda’yaim_. _Ni kyr'taylir goyust at yaim_. And that _ramikadycla besk’verd_ and his crazy _jare_ are how we get there.”

Vau started swearing. Kal considered how to communicate to his boys they needed to pin Fett so they could sedate him. Ordo was the one who spoke up. “How, ‘Alor? You’d need an army, a real army.”

“We have an army, _verd’ika_ ,” Fett said, reaching up and chucking Kal’s eldest son under his chin like he might with Boba. “And the _jetiise_ are going to be busy chasing their own asses for the next few months which gives us plenty of time.”

Vau figured it out before Kal did. “You can’t be fucking serious! They’re brainwashed Republic akk dogs.”

“Because we blunted their teeth. Their bones are _be’kyr'oya'kar_. All they need to learn is how to hunt. Then we’ll have Mandalorian wolves.” He was serious, and he had a plan. The beskar bright glint was familiar to Kal. The years had fallen away from Fett’s face leaving the brilliant, vicious commando who’d taken Jaster Mereel’s vision from idealistic guerillas to true political movement. It was like seeing a ghost except he was solid and present in a way he hadn’t been since he’d reappeared as a _beroya_.

“We’ll take them all?” Kal demanded one hand on Jaing the other on Ordo. “And the _kaminiise_?”

Fett shrugged. “I was thinking Taun We would be preferable to Lama Su’s banthashite. But we can discuss details tomorrow.” When he saw Kal still hesitating he added, “As many as you want, Kal. As many little brothers as your boys can train. Enough _ramikade_ Clan Skirata won’t have to bow and scrape to House Kryze to keep your farms.”

“And me?” Vau demanded though he needed less convincing, the pugnacious bastard.

“Your pick of clan strongholds when we wipe out the _Kyr’tsad_. First pick of any _adiike_ we take. Any of your boys who don’t hate your guts recognized as members of your clan.” Vau was _cin vhetin_. He didn’t have a clan or house with invested property or sworn commandos. Fett was offering to give him everything he needed to establish himself as a proper Mandalorian clan head.

Vau nodded. “Then I stand with you as always, _Mand’alor_.” He put a clenched fist over his heart and bowed.

“Clan Skirata stands with you, _Mand’alor_ ,” Kal said, slightly dazed, and bowed. He wasn’t sure if Fett had lost what little remained of his sanity or if their _Mand’alor_ had finally returned to them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a
> 
> Ni kyr'taylir goyust at yaim. - I know the road home.  
> Beskar'gam - Mandalorian armor (not always made of beskar)  
> Resol'ad/Resol'ade - A mando who follows the Resolnare (sing/pl)  
> Ruyot'ad/Ruyot'ade - An 'orthodox' Mandalorian (like Din)  
> Kyr'tsad - Death Watch  
> Hu'tuun/Hu'tuune - Coward (insult) (sing/pl)  
> Dal'ramikad - Commando who expresses themselves as a woman  
> Manda'yaim - proper name for Mandalore  
> Ramikadycla besk'verd - Commando-trained soldier in beskar  
> Jare - someone who takes foolish risks, a kamikaze  
> Be’kyr'oya'kar - From a Mandalorian wolf  
> Cin vhetin - the forgetting of one's past when one becomes Mandalorian

**Author's Note:**

> Mando'a
> 
> jetii/jetiise - Jedi (sing/pl)  
> dar'jetii/dar'jetiise - Sith (sing/pl)  
> jet'ika - little Jedi  
> verd'ika/verd'ike - trainee lit. 'little soldier' (sing/pl)  
> ori'vod/ori'vode - training officer lit. 'big brother' (sing/pl)  
> vod'ika/vod'ike - little brother (sing/pl)  
> vod/vode - brother (sing/pl)


End file.
